


Not There Yet (But Maybe Soon)

by xcacophony



Category: Alkaline Trio (Band), Blink-182
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 03:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcacophony/pseuds/xcacophony
Summary: Tiny fic: Mark's not 100% over what happened with Tom. It's not as bad as before but - it's not okay either. And Matt gets to watch and hope he can fix it, even just a little.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This could stand to be a lot longer. But I've got ideas for another part, either it's own piece or as an extension of this or whatever. 
> 
> I blame this on being a Mark/Tom fan for more than 15 years and getting my heart kicked around as I watched Mark go from happy to miserable to okay to unhappy and then maybe okay again. Also Skiba.

“I haven’t had an ex- in over twenty years. I forgot how shitty it actually is.” 

Matt whipped his head around to his bandmate - which was a bit of a mistake, since now everything was a bit dizzy and blurry and he might be sick. 

Mark had been silent the last few minutes, just sipping on a beer and cracking half smiles as some of the guys from All Time Low were getting louder and louder in the bar, goading each other to go outside and eat part of a flaming cactus. Matt assumed that someone from their crew would step in before they did it, but if not - well, shit. He’d done worse when he was younger.

His thoughts finally sorted themselves so he could remember why he was staring at his bandmate. 

_Mark. Ex. Breakup. Wait - Tom, right._

“You mean you’ve been writing all those breakup songs over the years and you were just making shit up?,” he said it with a laugh, trying to get Mark to smile all the way, the way he used to. It had been a while since Matt saw it.

“Hahaha, good one,” Mark replied, then took another sip of his beer and set the bottle down on the bar. “I’m going to go have a smoke. Try to keep them from killing themselves,” he said with a nod toward Jack and Alex. 

Matt bit the inside of his cheek, looking back at the band, then took a swig of his beer - it was getting warm, gross - and followed his bandmate outside. 

“Hey, Hoppus! You don’t get to drop a comment like that and take off running,” Matt joked, worry seeping through his laugh. 

“Forgot about it, Matt,” Mark replied from his spot on one of the patio tables, the old wood creaking a bit as he shifted to reach for where he kept his lighter. 

“Mark…”

“Want one?,” Mark asked, holding out one of his cigarettes in offering, clearly trying to deflect away from talking.

“No, I quit a while ago. Too old for that shit,” Matt replied, making a face as Mark took a drag. 

“Hey hey, dinosaurs can smoke too!,” Mark frowned, mock offended, and Matt laughed as he sat down next to him. 

“I thought you were doing okay,” he finally said after a moment of silence. 

“I’m great!”

Matt laughed. In the time that he’d gotten closer to Mark, since the day the other man first called him and asked him if he was interested in filling in for Tom at the Musink festival, he had learned when great was GREAT and when it was _I’m here, that counts probably_. 

He wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulders and pulled him close. Mark resisted for a moment, his body going stiff, but Matt pulled harder until Mark dropped his cigarette on the ground reflexively and leaned into the touch. 

“Remember when we were up on the stage earlier? Sold out crowd, everyone screaming the songs back at us? How long did you go without that?,” Matt gently coaxed. 

“Years. Fuck, too long.”

“I remember the look on your face the first time we went out on stage together. I haven’t seen you that happy in years, babe. Just try to remember that feeling.” 

“Yeah,” Mark mumbled into Matt’s shoulder, his breath hot against the fabric of Matt’s old Rancid shirt. He didn’t sound too convinced and Matt swallowed down the weird feeling lingering in his gut. _Probably acid reflux from the drinking. Knew I should’ve quit._

“Talk to me, Marky,” Matt tried, his hand gently rubbing against Mark’s back. 

“Don’t call me that,” Mark groaned, his body going tense again. “He called me that, all the time. I - it shouldn’t bother me, but..”

Matt winced. He knew better, had heard Tom call Mark that a thousand times over the years. _Good job, Skiba. Way to fuck that up._

_Wait. Stop, focus._

“20 plus years is a long time. You can be bothered as long as you want,” Matt tried, “but fuck feeling like shit, man; he’s the one who should feel like shit. I know you,” Matt took a deep breath, his lungs suddenly feeling tight, “love him, but that guy? He’s not the guy you love, he’s some asshole aliens replaced Tom with and as far as I’m concerned, alien Tom can go to hell. Or Pluto. Pluto’s probably a better metaphor.” 

Mark laughed, a full on laugh that reverberated through Matt’s body, then shut his eyes and groaned. 

“I fucking hate aliens,” Mark whined. 

“Yeah, me too. I think I’ve got an old copy of Independence Day back in my bus if you want to watch some get blown up.”

“Maybe later tonight,” Mark replied, pausing for a moment to pull back and thumb at the pocket where his lighter was. Matt remembered that feeling all too well. Addiction was hard to break. He knew Mark alone had started and stopped hundreds of times, and he had nearly as many attempts before he finally broke the habit. 

“It would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to see his stupid alien face every day.” 

"You don't! You get to see my stupid face, and I'm pretty sure we don't look _that_ alike," Matt smiled, his tone brightening as he got a flicker of a smile back from Mark. 

He heard a rustling noise, which he figured was Mark going back for his lighter, then felt something heavy fall on his thigh. He looked down, confused, and saw what exactly had been eating at Mark since they wrapped up their show earlier that night.

_Ah, fuck._

He took a breath. When was Mark going to learn to stop doing this to himself?

“And that,” Matt remarked, his hand going up to briefly rub at the back of Mark’s neck before breaking away to stand, handing the phone back to Mark in the process, “is why you need to get off Instagram for a while. It stops being funny and just starts kicking your own ass. And if you need someone to kick you ass so bad, I'm sure Travis would be happy to oblige. Plus, hey,” Matt stopped, feeling that strange sensation in his gut stronger, his lungs tightening, and _shit, what the hell, body?_

“What’s up?”

“I’d still bang you, old man. Now come on, we should babysit the kids and make sure they haven’t ripped their vocal cords apart.” 

“Oh, fuck you, Skiba - I’m only four years older than you!”

Matt smiled. It worked every time. 

(And later, when they did put on Independence Day and Will Smith drove the dead alien up to the military base in his truck, all Matt could think was that it was going to be a while before Mark was okay, really okay, but if Matt could do anything in the world to help, he would. Because _Mark deserves so much; so much more than Tom had given him._

And, well - _fuck you for doing this to my friend, space invader._

He looked at Mark, dozing on the couch in the little common area of Matt’s bus, his head rolled to the side, hair a mess, deep breaths emanating from his lungs as he edged toward snoring, and he smiled. 

_But if the Tom I knew is still around somewhere - thank you for bringing me here, dude. There’s no where on planet I’d rather be than here._ )


End file.
